


angular disposition

by weatheredlaw



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Future, Explicit Language, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: Kai sets down her fork. “Oh,” she says. “So this...this is how you’re doing it.”Grif frowns. “Doing what?”“This is how you’re telling him you love him.”or: Simmons needs a new arm, and Grif's got a plan.





	angular disposition

**Author's Note:**

> uh the setting of this au is a vaguely grunge-y, tech-y, cyberpunk-y sort of thing. it doesn't matter an awful lot.

Grif has had his hands in a droid’s guts for three hours, and to no avail. His client needed this finished yesterday, but when it turns out the depth and breadth of the problem is far greater than one was told, sometimes due dates change.

“I’m not finding the short,” Kai mutters. “Are you sure that’s what’s happening?”

“I’m absolutely fucking sure.”

She glances up at him, brow arched high. “You could call Simmons. I’m sure he could find it.”

“He’s busy,” Grif says bluntly.

“...Or?”

“There is no _or_. We’re not calling him, we’re fixing this by ourselves. If we’re calling anyone, it’s Caboose.”

“Oh yeah? And the reason for _that_ wouldn’t happen be because you _loudly_ and _obnoxiously_ proclaimed to Simmons yesterday that you could deal with this on your own, right?”

Grif sighs. “...Maybe. Can we just finish this, please? Look, it’s no wonder you can’t find the short, you’re not even looking in the right fucking spot.” He moves her hands over. “See? There.” He lifts part of the droid’s connections that have fried. “Grab that wire kit off the table and let’s get this done. We need the cash.”

“Right.” She does as she’s told and they finish the job. Grif leaves the room as Kai brings the droid around — he’s never been particularly good at interfacing with self-aware tech. Gives him the creeps. He goes to the tub sink instead and starts scrubbing his hands and arms from the lube and oil they use to keep those things from sparking.

“Get ‘er done?” Sarge calls from his spot in the front.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Owner called three times while you were in there.”

Grif steps into the front of the shop, drying his hands. “Well, he wouldn’t have had to _do_ that if he’d been honest about the problem in the first place.”

Sarge is flipping through a magazine, booted feet propped up on their meager front desk. “People are idiots, Grif,” he says, without looking up. “‘Course you’d know that already.”

“Uh-huh.”

The door to their little operating room opens and Kai comes out with their patient.

“Dexter’s going to get you home, Peaches. Don’t you worry.” She gives the droid a reassuring pat before finishing up the invoice and handing it to Grif with a flourish.

“Right. Come on...Peaches.”

Peaches blips in response and follows Grif out to the truck.

 

* * *

 

He waits to smoke until after the droid is gone. Last time he did that he got a full lecture from one, complete with pictures and sound bites of people taking their last, dying breaths. No _thanks._ After dropping her off he heads back downtown. There’s a hefty check and a bonus folded up in his pocket, and it’s crying out to be spent. He cashes it and pulls some out before heading a little further south toward Caboose’s place.

Caboose is a little lost about most things — no sense of direction, keeps all his money hoarded somewhere in his house, constantly bumping his head on things he should know he needs to duck under because he’s a _tree_ — but he’s a genius about tech, and Grif likes to see what he has.

The little bell over his shop door rings and Grif hears him call out, “ _Be right there!_ ”

“It’s me,” Grif calls back. As he walks further into the shop, a floating ball rounds the corner. “Oh. Hey, Church.”

“ _What’s up, dipshit?_ ”

“Just...came to say hi to Caboose.” Church is an AI salvaged from some project Caboose worked on a while back. Neither of them talk about it much, and Grif’s perfectly fine with that. It’s just Church is...kind of a dick. If Grif’s being honest he just doesn’t have the patience for artificial intelligence. Kai’s always onto him about getting one, but Grif just...doesn’t want to.

He likes things the way they are.

Caboose finally comes out from the back, goggles pushed away from his eyes and onto his forehead, sending his already uncontrollable head of hair in every different direction.

“Hey, Grif! Did you get that droid fixed?”

“Yeah, wasn’t hard after we found the actual problem.” Grif pauses. “How did you—” He stops as Simmons trails after Caboose into the front of the shop, looking smug. “You’re an asshole.”

“Hey, you were the one yesterday who said you _knew_ what the problem was, and it was only taking you extra time because you were _so_ busy.”

“Fuck you, Dick.”

“ _Caboose, you’ve got a call_ ,” Church says. Caboose shrugs at Grif and goes to answer the phone.

Grif scowls. “Whatever, I got paid for it. It’s not my fault someone’s probably doing things with a domestic droid they _shouldn’t_ be.”

Simmons laughs. “You’re the only one who thinks that.”

“Nuh-uh, I know for a _fact_ —”

“ _Caboose is on the phone,_ ” Church says, floating between them. “ _Can you guys flirt somewhere else?_ ”

“I’m gonna turn you into scrap,” Grif says.

“ _Oh, I’m terrified. Whatever will my advanced programming do without this indestructible shell to live in?_ ” Church floats away from them, shaking his metal carapice back and forth, instructing some of the other bots in the shop to start cleaning things up.

“I hate him,” Simmons says. “Almost as much as I hate you.”

“Wow. You really got me man.” Grif walks past Simmons and bumps him, hard, with his shoulder, not expecting much kickback.

His left arm, after all, isn’t real.

But the cyborg limb gives off a spark and Simmons swears, grabbing it and moving away.

“Whoa, dude. What the hell?”

“Dammit! It’s been acting weird. I came to ask Caboose to fix it, but he said I should—” Simmons stops, looking at Grif quickly, then back down at the floor. “Anyway. I’ll see you later. Gonna head home.”

“Whoa, dude.” Grif reaches out and grabs his human arm. “No, what’s up?”

Simmons sighs. “He said I should ask _you._ He doesn’t deal with ‘borgs as much as he deals in...whatever he does.”

“Yeah, okay.” Grif nods. “Come back to the shop, I’ll take a look at it.”

“It’s late, Simmons says. You were in that droid all day, I don’t want to bother you—”

“Dude, your _arm_ is malfunctioning. Just get over yourself and come out to the van with me. I’ll take you to my place, then I’ll take you home.”

Caboose says brightly, “Oh, did you ask him?”

“Yeah, Caboose.”

“Great! Sorry, I just don’t have what you need here. Also, I need to go home. My sister is having some kind of emergency.”

“ _Which one?_ ” Church asks.

Caboose rattles off a name and a story — he has _seventeen_ sisters, from what Grif understands, and they have a variety of dramas and dilemmas Caboose has to deal with on a weekly basis. Happily, of course, because Caboose is most always happy, but still. Grif is rarely _publicly_ grateful for his sister, but he feels lucky now as Caboose and Church start closing down the shop.

Caboose frowns. “Wait, did you need something, Grif?”

“Just wanted to look at your stock. I’ll swing by tomorrow.”

“Oh! That’s a good idea. I have a really great kit I put together that I think you could use. Good luck with the arm, Simmons!”

“Thanks, Caboose.” They both wave and head out to the van.

 

* * *

 

They’re half-way through the process of Grif getting Simmons’s arm open when he realizes they’ve...never done this before. Whatever problems Simmons has had with his cyborg parts in the past, he’s dealt with it himself. He used to go to Sarge, since Sarge was the one who helped him get them in the first place, but the old man’s had trouble keeping up with the improvements made on the limbs and other parts over the years.

Grif feels his mouth go dry, but Simmons doesn’t appear to notice. He’s bitching at Grif about the status of the workspace. No organization, he says. No filing system.

“You give me a week in here, I could have this place running itself. We could get one of Caboose’s programs—”

“No thanks.”

“You’re as bad as Wash,” Simmons mutters. “I don’t get it.”

“They’re weird. Creep me out.” Grif finally gets the forearm open and sees the damage. “Dude, you’ve been living like this?” The wires are fraying, and there’s definitely something that smells off about the whole thing. “Simmons, this is going to stop _working._ I thought you’d been modifying it.”

“I have! It’s just...you know after a while, the new mods and the old tech don’t...mesh.” Simmons turns his head to the side, away from Grif, but he can still the flush creeping up to his jaw.

“Well I can fix some of this, but you’re going to need to find a more long term solution.” Grif tests his soldering iron and fuses a few things back together. He repairs the covering that’s fraying around the ends of some of the wires before closing the arm back up. “What if we found you a new arm?’

“That’s...more than you can afford.”

“Okay, one, you don’t know my life. And two, you’ve checked?” Simmons nods. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. How does it feel?”

“Better.”

“Cool.” Grif stands and starts putting his stuff away. “Look, we’ll talk with Caboose tomorrow, maybe he’s got someone who can get you something.”

“It wouldn’t be long term. It’d just be something else I have to fix every day.” Simmons rotates his shoulder. “Just...don’t worry about it. I’m looking into it, I’ll sort it out myself.”

“Hey, you don’t _have_ to—”

“Grif, I’m serious.” Simmons steps away from him. “You’ve got enough to be stressed about without having to worry about me.” He puts a hand on Grif’s shoulder. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“I’ll take you home—”

“I can walk, Grif. Seriously.”

“Simmons—”

But he’s already heading out, waving his cyborg hand and calling over his shoulder, “Night!”

Kai finds Grif still standing there ten minutes later, packing and repacking his tools. She rests a gentle hand on his shoulder and pushes herself up to kiss his cheek.

“Get some rest, bro. You worked hard today. You earned it.”

 

* * *

 

Simmons doesn’t _want_ Grif to help him, and that’s fine. But he never asked how Grif feels about that, which is why he’s digging through bin after bin in the back of Caboose’s shop, looking for an arm.

“Is this for Simmons?” Caboose asks. He’s made Grif stop for lunch, and they’re perched on stools around his work bench, arms tucked in like birds as they eat sandwiches. “He needs a new arm.”

“Yeah, but he’s being kind of difficult about it.”

“ _Right._ He wants to do it on his own, or whatever,” Caboose says, and Grif nods. “Well that’s silly.”

“Okay, see? That’s what I said.”

“You’re never going to find an arm good enough for him in one of those.” Caboose points at the bins with his sandwich and loses a pickle. “Oh gosh. _Freckles!_ C’mere boy!” Caboose’s dog bounds down the stairs and finds the pickle right away before making camp between their feet. “What he has is probably better than anything you could just go out and find right now.”

“Not helpful, Caboose.”

“ _Black market_ ,” Church suggests.

Grif scowls. “Less helpful, tin can. We need something that’s _not_ going to get us arrested.”

“Oh.” Caboose laughs. “No one is going to notice if an old arm goes missing. They replace them all the time. And they save the good parts for the...you know.” He gives a little whistle and points up.

“Right.” Grif knows all about _that._ He knows all about rich people and their droids and their cyborg parts. He fixes them all the time. It figures that he’s good enough to keep their machines running, but not good enough to buy one himself. The six figure starting price point is more than he makes in a year. Five years, probably.

Caboose chews thoughtfully. “You know...I could make some calls. Sometimes you can, ah, swipe a part that’s getting replaced from the hospital. Anything there would still be better than what we could find here.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble, Caboose.”

“I don’t know. It might be sort of exciting.” He grins at Grif and puts the rest of his sandwich on Grif’s plate. “You finish that. I have to finish this.” He hops off his stool and pushes his goggles back down, getting back to work on...something. Grif is never quite sure what Caboose is doing. He stops after a minute and says, “Wash is coming, can you make sure he gets what he needs?”

“...What does he need?”

“Oh, he knows.” Caboose smiles and gets back to work.

Grif sighs and takes the sandwiches to the front of the shop. Church is there again, having the bots organizing some of the new parts Caboose must have found. He says to Grif, “ _Might take more than your brain and Caboose’s to find your boyfriend a new arm._ ”

“Not my boyfriend. Also, I don’t remember asking you.”

“ _I’m just saying._ ”

“How about you _not_ just say, and we pretend you never said anything.” Grif finishes the sandwiches and tosses the plates in the trash. If he’s going to wait for Wash, he might as well be useful. He does a few repairs on some of the little things Caboose has lying around. The door over the bell finally rings a little while later, and Wash comes in, arms laden with rolls of paper.

“Little help!” he calls. Church manages to have a few of the bots grab some things, finally revealing Wash’s perpetually exhausted face. “Thanks — oh.” He narrows his eyes at Church. “You.”

“ _Yes, me. Always me, Wash._ ”

“Right. Where’s Caboose?”

“In the back.” Grif comes around the desk and takes some of the papers.

“Hey, Grif.” Wash grins at him and they make their way to one of the bins, dumping all the rolls into it. “Blueprints. Caboose collects them. My boss likes to throw them out.” Wash works for an architect, does a lot of drafting and sketching. He also does a lot of staying up all night, and it constantly shows. Grif thinks he needs to sleep for about six years to make up for it. Kai tells him you can’t make up for sleep debt. Grif thinks that’s bullshit.

“Caboose said you needed something?”

“Oh, right!” Wash goes to one of the shelves lining the walls and picks up an old clock. “I asked him to fix this.”

“Why, so you could finally know how much sleep you’re _not_ getting?”

Wash raises a brow. “Funny. No, this belonged to my dad, it’s a family heirloom. See? It’s analog, and it’s got these old cogs in it. Caboose loves this stuff.”

“ _It’s true, he’s got a knack for old tech._ ” Church floats between them. Wash and Grif both step back. “ _Oh, right. It’s the anti-AI brigade. I always forget that when you two get together._ ”

Wash sighs. “Anyway. Good to see you, Grif. We really need to get together for a beer soon. Tucker’s trying to insist I be social, so.”

Grif nods. “Yeah. Yeah, we should.” He watches Wash go, the small beginnings of a plan starting to form in his head.

“ _You’re scheming_ ,” Church says, and Grif nods.

“Something like that,” he says, and heads out of the shop.

 

* * *

 

He lays out the plan for Kai at dinner that night.

“Tucker’s been selling gossip for years. He’s got all the filthy rich clients, he knows everything they’re doing, all their business. If _anyone_ is going to know where to get a spare arm, it’s going to be him.”

“So you’re suggesting we...somehow use _gossip_ from _Tucker_ to get Simmons a new arm?”

Grif points with his fork. “Yes. _Exactly._ ”

“I dunno, Dex. It’s risky. And Simmons said he didn’t want you to help.”

“It’s just because he’s Simmons. He’ll feel all weird and indebted.”

Kai shrugs. “I mean, I guess if you tediously replaced one of my cyborg parts I’d feel like I owed you one. You know how much it sucks to feel like you owe someone a _debt_ , Grif.”

“He wouldn’t, it’s not a big deal.”

Kai sets down her fork. “Oh,” she says. “So this...this is how you’re doing it.”

Grif frowns. “Doing what?”

“This is how you’re telling him you love him.”

He _chokes_ on his food, coughing until he can swallow enough beer to say, “ _What?_ ”

“Yeah. You’re getting all this together and you’ll make him a new arm and he’ll understand how you feel.” She laughs. “It’s good. Little melodramatic, but still good.”

“I’m not _in love_ with Simmons.”

“You are,” she says. “It’s okay! We all know.”

“That’s not... _I’m not_ —”

“I’ll give you a minute,” Kai says gently. She finishes her food and takes her dishes to the sink. Their little apartment over the shop has two tiny rooms, and an even tinier kitchen, so he can hear her humming softly as she rinses her plate.

When she comes back, she sits down to finish her beer and asks, “Got it sorted yet?”

“...Is it super obvious?”

She considers this. “Well...no. Not to either of you. I mean maybe a little, but...no.” She taps the neck of her bottle to his. “You build him a new arm, though. _That’s_ going to make it obvious.”

“But I...I _want_ to do that for him.”

“Of course you do. He’s your friend and _also_ you love him. There’s no shame in that.”

“...Okay.” Grif pushes his plate away. “Shit.”

“Hey, don’t get stressed about this. Honestly, we’re all rooting for you.”

Grif scowls. “Who is _we?_ ”

“Caboose, Tucker, Wash, that creepy AI Caboose keeps, Sarge—”

“ _Sarge?_ Sarge knows?”

Kai laughs. “Oh, Sarge noticed it first. Well, _Donut_ noticed first, but Sarge was the one who said you were in love.” She stands and kisses his forehead before tossing her empty bottle into the trash. “I’m going to bed, Dex. You take as long as you need to sort through all that.”

Grif doesn’t finish his dinner. He scrapes the rest of it into the garbage, turns out the lights, and goes to his room.

 

* * *

 

They don’t just jump right to stealing arms. That’s a big deal, and Grif knows someone could get into trouble. But the hunt for parts isn’t going well, and Tucker is looking like a better option every day. Sarge’s contacts have dried up over the years, and Caboose doesn’t have the attention span to focus on a project like this for more than fifteen seconds, so Grif finds himself doing most of the work. And of course, in between all of this, he has an actual business to run, and things are starting to pile up.

Kai is _pissed._

“You need to hire someone.”

“I do _not._ ”

“Uh, yes? You do.” She brandishes a stack of orders in his face. “We’re fucking swamped, Dex! And even if you weren’t skipping out of here an hour early every night to go hunt around parts for your stupid project—”

“ _Watch it_ —”

“We’d _still_ need someone because you’re a cheap asshole who doesn’t want anyone you don’t know messing with your _system_ or whatever it is you call this.”

Sarge calls from the front, “Got another pick up on the West side!”

Kai folds her arms over her chest. “See? That’s _seven_ repairs we need to do before next week and we’ve only started on two of them.” She shoves the papers at him. “I’m taking care of this.”

“Uh, you’re _not._ ”

“Yes, I am.” She turns and points. “You’re going to let your stupid ego get in the way of us being successful. I am _never_ going to let things get as bad as they used to be again, Dexter. Do you understand me?”

“Kai—”

“No! I’ve had it. We lived that life already, I’m not going back.” She grabs the keys. “I’m going to the West side, and I’m going to come back with our order _and_ someone to help. And you’re going to keep your fucking mouth shut about it, do you understand me?”

“...Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She walks out and to the van.

Sarge chuckles from his chair and Grif scowls. “Eat shit, old man.”

“That’s eat shit, _sir._ ”

“Whatever.” Grif goes into the back to start working on one of their smaller orders. It’s a cleaning droid, malfunctioning and spitting soap and water everywhere. When Kai finally comes back with another domestic droid, Grif is swearing and covered head to toe in soapy water. He looks up as the door swings open. “Don’t you fucking say anything.”

“Wasn’t gonna. This is Lopez, he’s a friend of Sarge’s. Knows how to fix stuff.”

Grif finally gets the soap pump fixed and shakes the mess off his hands. “I’m Grif.”

Lopez nods. When Grif gets a closer look he realizes Lopez is mostly cyborg parts, with a pretty decent skin graft covering most of it.

“You do that work yourself?”

“The sergeant,” Lopez says. “ _Me ayudó._ ”

Grif nods. “ _Qué considerado._ ”

Lopez’s expression brightens, and his voice seems to open up as he launches into the story of how he needed the parts and how Sarge helped him over a couple of years to get in touch with people. That he worked for a wealthy family for some time and they made sure it was all maintained.

“ _Pero mi empleador...murió._ ”

“ _Lo siento._ ” Grif puts a soapy hand on his shoulder. He says in Spanish, “Thanks for helping us. My sister is right. We...really need some extra hands.”

“I’m very happy to help.”

“Great.” Grif checks his watch. “Okay, I’ve got to run somewhere, but that droid’s done, if you want to call Mrs. Kostolek.”

Kai nods. “Sure thing.”

Grif sighs. “I gotta get this shit off me.”

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Uh, to talk to Tucker. I think it's time we move on to plan B.”

Kai snorts. “Right. Well you know what to say.”

Grif sighs. “Yes, I know what to tell him.” He waves and jogs up the stairs to change.

 

* * *

 

Tucker’s a ten minute walk from the shop. He’s been repairing cars for the last handful of years and Grif knows for a fact that most of his clients are wealthier than God. He's been selling their gossip to the highest bidder for a while now, so there has to be _something_ here. He’s expecting Caboose, since he was the one who had the idea about the arm in the first place, and he’s there, sitting on the edge of a lift, legs swinging over the side while Church talks with Tucker under the hood of a car.

“Hey, Grif!”

“Hey, Caboose.”

Tucker and Church turn. The AI somehow manages to look _smug_ , Grif has no idea how he does it.

Tucker grins. “Well, well. Look who it is.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

“What tone? I don’t have a tone.”

“He doesn’t have a tone,” Caboose says, a little nervously. Grif punches the button for the lift and it comes down, placing Caboose at his feet. He looks guilty. “...Hi.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Tell him...tell him what?”

“ _Caboose_ —”

“Don’t get pissy with him.” Tucker sticks out a hand and Caboose takes it. “We all know you wanna bone down on Simmons, it’s cool man.” He hauls Caboose to his feet and starts heading toward his office. “So. I hear you’re looking to score some gossip.” Tucker plops down in his chair behind his desk and steeples his fingers. “What is this information worth to you, my friend?”

Grif sighs. “I can see what I have, but right now—”

Tucker laughs. “Dude, I’m fucking with you. I’m not gonna charge _you_ for this shit. Besides, you couldn’t afford me.” He leans forward and picks up a tablet, swiping through it. “You’re looking for someone to lose an arm, right?”

“Or a leg!” Caboose says. “I could work with a leg. We could turn a leg into an arm easy.”

Grif nods. “That’s true. Look, we just need something.”

“Sure, sure.” Tucker taps a few things. “I’m not sure if this is happening or not, but I’ve got a guy who brings in a vintage truck about once a month who’s in the process of getting some upgrades done. He’s got a cyborg arm, but it’s his _right_ arm.”

“I can work with that, too,” Caboose says.

“Okay. Well, we just gotta figure out a way to get it.”

Grif leans forward. “How about Doc?”

“Doc?” Tucker tosses the tablet onto his desk. “That guy who lives with Donut?”

“He’s a floor nurse at the hospital. The big one, the _nice_ one. I’m assuming that’s where this guy’s going to go?”

“Most likely. Could happen at home, but your risk of infection is higher there.” Tucker leans back in his chair and considers this. “Yeah, okay. We could get Doc in on this. That’s a lot of people. This, uh...this isn’t legal, Grif. Stealing a cyborg arm from the hospital. I just want you to _know_ that.”

“...Right.” Just a week ago he’d refused Church’s black market suggestion. He doesn’t _want_ to get anyone in trouble. That would just make Simmons mad and this is about _helping_ him. Not pissing him off.

Caboose puts a hand on his arm. “This was my idea, Grif. I can make sure it goes okay.”

“No, it’s fine. Really, Caboose. We’re all in this together, now.”

Tucker nods. “Yeah. Besides, they’re not going to miss some guy’s old arm. They’re just gonna toss it. Simmons needs it, and _you_ need to confess your undying love. It’s okay, we all know what we’re getting into.” He smacks his desk. “Alright! I’m gonna make a couple calls, and I think you guys should have your new arm by the end of the week.”

“We’ll need to run it through a lot of tests. And not all of it will be salvageable,” Caboose adds. “But it will be easier to get some replacement parts, I think. Easier than getting the whole arm, anyway.” He sighs happily. “I love it when we all do stuff together. It’s fun.”

“A total blast.” Tucker leads them both out of his office. “Oh, tell your sister I said what’s up.”

“She says hi, pencil-dick.”

Tucker swears and goes back into his office, slamming the door.

 

* * *

 

It’s Donut who delivers the good news later that week. He comes into Caboose’s shop where Grif is talking with him about spare parts and says loudly, “Arm _acquired._ ”

Grif drops what he’s holding. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, buddy.”

Grif can’t help himself. He grabs up Donut and spins him around. Donut laughs and pats him on the back.

“I’m really happy for you, Grif. Simmons is going to be _psyched._ ”

“God, I hope so. I just...I really fuckin’ hope so.” He points to Caboose. “Give me a call after you’ve taken a look at it. Is Doc bringing it over?”

“Yeah, he’ll be here with it later.”

Grif grins. “ _Awesome._ Okay, I gotta get back and finish up an order. I’ll see you guys later. Donut—” Grif grabs him up again and squeezes him. “Thank you, man.”

“I do love to be the messenger!” he calls, as Grif runs to the van. He’s so excited — it’s all coming together, and honestly it’s not just about doing something so Simmons finally _gets_ it. He’s going to help him, he’s going to make a little part of his life _better_. Grif’s so used to fixing things for people he never gets to know, used to repairing things he’ll never see again that the idea of doing this and seeing Simmons and seeing the arm — it _thrills_ him. It _electrifies_ him.

When he gets to the shop, he takes the stairs two at a time, out of breath when he gets to the top and goes into the apartment, calling out to his sister, “Doc got the arm!”

There’s no response, just the sound of a chair being pushed back, so Grif says, “Caboose is going to take a look at it, and we’ll see how much is salvageable, but it’s done! We got it. Probably need to take Tucker for a drink. Doc and Donut, too—”

Grif walks into the kitchen, and Simmons is leaning against the sink.

“Uh, hey.”

“Hi, Grif.”

“Um, all of that’s for, uh. Lopez. You know Lopez? He’s got ‘borg bits, like you. He’s uh—”

“What are you doing, Grif?”

“Me? Nothing! I’m not...I’m not doing...anything. Not doing anything.” He moves around Simmons. “Where’s Kai?”

“On a date. She let me in on her way out. You just missed her.”

“Oh.” Grif thinks he remembers her saying something about that, but he isn’t sure. “Right. Okay. You hungry?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Yeah, me either.” He clears his throat. “So. What’s up?”

Simmons curls his fist and slams it against the cabinet under the sink. “I fucking _told you_ , Grif. I asked you not to do anything.”

“Well _tough._ I’m helping. How did you even find out?”

“Church told me.”

Grif scowls. “See? This is why I fuckin’ hate those things.”

“He and _Caboose_ let it all spill yesterday. I surprised you couldn’t tell.” He puts a hand on either hip. “I told you I could handle this on my own.”

“Right,” Grif says. “So you can say you did it without any help, and everyone can talk about how _smart_ you are and what a _genius_ you are—”

“That’s _not_ what this is about.”

“Why can’t you just admit it, huh? You know, I’ve gotten more done with this in the last week than you have all year. And do you know why? It’s because I fucking _asked for help_ , Dick. Okay? I asked people to help me and they fucking came through. Now what the _fuck_ is your damage about this? Why can’t we just—”

“I don’t need your _help_ because I don’t need your _pity_ ,” Simmons snaps, and the air between them grows very still.

Grif blinks. Takes a step back.

“...Oh.”

“Yeah.” Simmons looks away. “ _Oh._ ”

Grif shakes his head. “Dude. I’m not...I’m not doing this because I feel sorry for you.”

“You’re not? Then why, Grif? Why?”

Grif laughs. “Don’t you...don’t you _know_? I mean, yeah. I’m sorry about the accident, and I’m sorry you lost your arm in the first place. I’m sorry that it hurts and it’s been hard for you. I am, because I’ve been here, and I’ve been watching you go through it. But I...I’m not doing it out of pity.” Grif sighs. “This wasn’t...it wasn’t how I wanted this to go. Like this wasn’t how I planned it—”

“Planned _what_ , Grif?”

“Dude. I _love_ you. I am _in love_ with you, and I have been for years. And I thought that if I...if I _did this_ for you, then I could finally tell you. And it would mean something. Like this big...big gesture and everything, and I—”

Grif stops talking.

It’s a little hard when someone’s kissing you.

Simmons takes Grif’s face in his hands, holds him close. Grif’s got one of his own hands on the fridge handle, the other on a kitchen chair. He inhales, he closes his eyes. He kisses back.

Simmons pulls away, keeping their foreheads pressed together. “You’re such an idiot,” he mutters.

“...Objectively, I know this is true.”

“I didn’t need a new _arm_ to know you...to hear that you—”

“That I’m in love with you?”

Simmons laughs. “ _Yes_ , dumbass.”

Grif opens his eyes. One of Simmons’ is fake, he knows this, but it’s sort of hard to tell. The left one, he thinks. The side where the accident happened. It’d been a bad fall into a machine, Grif remembers that day. He remembers going to the hospital, and he remembers no one being able to do anything. He remembers feeling helpless and stupid and _useless_ and —

He never wanted to feel that way around Simmons again.

Grif swallows. “Kai’s going to be gone for a while.”

“...Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean I figure she will be.”

“Grif?”

“Uh-huh?”

Simmons pulls back. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?”

“What, you need a written invitation?” Grif grabs his hand and pulls him out of the kitchen. “Come on, I’ve got a lot of pent up feelings to get out. Preferably all over you.”

“That’s gross, Grif.”

“Eh, you love it.”

Simmons laughs. “Yeah. I guess I kinda do.”

 

* * *

 

Caboose is able to salvage most of the arm. They need to build a new shell for it, but Wash takes care of that with a 3-D scan and a drafting program, and everyone pitches in to do what they can. By the end of the month, they’ve gotten enough cash together to get the rest of the parts, and then it all comes down to replacing the arm.

Sarge calls in a few favors that finally come through for him. And, on a kind of rainy day in the middle of the week, Simmons goes under, and comes out with a brand new arm.

Grif thinks that, if he hadn’t blown it all the other day, this would have been the perfect time to come in and sit by his bedside, watch him wake up. Maybe Simmons would thank him, and Grif would reach out and take his hand and talk about how annoying he always is, how he’s a smartass and a know it all, how he always has to be right. And Simmons would call him an idiot and they’d laugh about how stupid they’ve both been.

And Grif would carefully lean in and say, “You know I love you, right?”

And Simmons would say, “Yeah, doofus. I love you, too.” They’d kiss and it’d be perfect.

Instead, Grif is sitting bedside, reading a magazine while Simmons comes around. They don’t say anything. Grif just reaches for his hand, and Simmons turns to watch him. Every so often Grif reads something out loud, and Simmons snarks at him about his boots — worn out, falling apart, knotted with laces that don’t match. It’s the kind of conversation he thinks they’d have even if they’d never kissed, never gone to bed together before today. It’s the kind of conversation they’d have if they were still just friends, and that makes Grif realize —

They’re still friends. He’d been afraid that loving Simmons, that _being_ loved by him would change everything. Turns out he was wrong. He usually is.

Simmons flexes the fingers in his new hand and says, “I bet I could hold you down with this.”

“Head out of the gutter, Dick. You’re supposed to be on bedrest until Sunday.”

“Fine. Monday night. I hold you down and you take it. How does that sound?”

“Romantic,” Grif says dryly.

“Okay.” Simmons rolls over, reaches out with the new hand and cups Grif’s cheek. “How about we go out then? First real date. You hold this hand and tell me how it feels.”

Grif reaches up, covers the metal hand with his own, bringing it to his lips and kissing the palm. “Alright,” he says. “But you’re buying. I got you a new arm, you owe me at least a decent meal.”

“I owe you a lot more than that,” Simmons says.

Grif laughs and shakes his head. “Nah. I’m just fuckin’ with you.” He reaches out and brushes the hair from Simmons’ face. “I told you,” he says. “This was how I wanted to say I love you. So...I love you. I want to see you happy, and healthy. I want to see you smiling and I want to hear you sass me whenever you get the chance. I want you to push me around, make fun of me, and get mad when I’m right about something and you’re wrong.”

“ _Asshole._ ”

“Ah well.” Grif leans in and kisses his forehead. “I love you, and if getting you a new arm was what it took to prove it, then knowing you love me back is all I want.”

Simmons sighs. “Of course I do. Of _course_ I love you.”

“Good. Now get some rest. You’ll need your energy for Monday night.”

“I thought we were going to dinner.”

“Oh sure, we can do that.” He picks up his magazine. “I mean, once we’re done testing that thing, I’m sure we’ll be totally starved.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ weatheredlaw


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